


a piece of every planet

by smartlove



Series: star-kissed kids [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Band Fic, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Jeon Heejin & Mark Lee are best friends, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) Needs a Hug, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Past Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Platonic Relationships, Set in Sydney, Tattoo Artist Lee Jeno, Tenderness, the fact that this tag exists :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlove/pseuds/smartlove
Summary: “Don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous,” Jeno teased.“Please,” Mark replied, “You’ll be making it big with me,”Mark wrote his first song when he was sixteen and knew nothing about love. Now, he's twenty, he's written hundreds of songs, and he still knows nothing about love.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee
Series: star-kissed kids [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903558
Comments: 32
Kudos: 142





	a piece of every planet

**Author's Note:**

> here's to my obsession with needing a mark/heejin friendship, my love for artists of every kind and found family, and my inability to not write markno being tender. i am particularly fond of mark in this and i hope you all love him just as much. 
> 
> thank you to my dear friend aris, this fic wouldn't be possible without their love for it. 
> 
> disclaimer: there is referenced/implied emotional abuse from mark's mother in this. I was unsure whether or not to tag it, please let me know if you think I should and remember to stay safe!

_“Get a load of this monster,_

_He doesn’t know how to communicate_

_His mind is in a different place_

_Will everybody please give him a little bit of space?_

_Get a load of this trainwreck_

_His hair’s a mess and he doesn’t know who he is yet_

_But little do we know the stars_

_Welcome him with open arms.”_

Cavetown, Home. 

When Mark Lee was sixteen, the boy of his dreams broke his heart. 

He shouldn’t have even been in love at that age, let alone nursing a heartbreak. His biggest priorities were kicking off his band’s soundcloud, saving up for a better skateboard and finishing the Percy Jackson series. In that order. 

And yet, there he was on a Sunday afternoon, about to get his heart broken by Donghyuck Lee, his boyfriend of six months. 

Donghyuck Lee, who cared about others so fiercely, who cradled love so gently in his palms like the fragile thing it was. Whose voice, eyes and soul dripped with passion and hope and everything great in the world. Mark was wholeheartedly in love with him. He didn’t need anyone else, how could he? When Donghyuck was everything he needed wrapped up in long legs and a teasing smile. 

Donghyuck was the lightbulb in the dusty, pitch black room of Mark’s life. He was warm and bright and welcoming in the way he held Mark’s hand and kissed him and whispered pretty words in his ears. Donghyuck was the cloudless blue sky, the sunlight that kissed Mark’s cheek. Mark had always been on the paler side but he wasn’t afraid of getting sunburnt. 

Until he was.

It was a late summer evening and the Sydney heat pricked at their skin. They were sitting on a park bench, eating popsicles and talking like they usually did on their dates, both too broke to do anything else. 

Donghyuck’s legs were thrown over Mark’s lap, his shorts rode up and his bare skin was pressed against Mark’s own. 

Mark finished off his raspberry flavoured popsicle, licking the sweet taste off his chapped lips.

“Donghyuck,” he said, voice churning like gravel. He cleared his throat. The boy looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow. His lips were stained bright red. Mark placed a hand on his shin.

“I’m in love with you.” 

Donghyuck pulled away and Mark shivered against the heatwave. 

Donghyuck sighed. He bit the final piece of his popsicle off his stick and crunched down on it. The sound of ice against teeth made Mark wince. 

He placed his hand on top of Mark’s, sticky fingers curling over his knuckles. 

“I think we should break up.”

Mark blinked. “What?”

Donghyuck’s grip on his hands grew tighter. He swallowed nervously. “This isn’t working out, I think– I think we’re much better off as friends.”

“But I just said I love you.” Mark said, feeling a million things all at once. 

Donghyuck gave him a sad smile. It looked like pity. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I– I just don’t think I love you.”

And just like that, the sun exploded all around him. Pieces of it fell from the blue sky and hit Mark’s skin as warmth turned into something searing hot. It embedded itself into the insides of his fingertips, and soon Mark was familiar with the feeling of getting burned. 

Donghyuck was it for him. Donghyuck was the one. His heart would never be returned again.

So that night, he trudged home in the dark, he slammed his bedroom door as loud as he could and wrote about it. He poured the blood out of his veins into the pages of a ratty leather bound journal. He wrote down every messy, crude detail of his heartbreak until the pages were wet with tears. He took out his anger, his frustration, his confusion, all the gritty details of his teenage angst. More importantly, he took out his love, painting it onto the page until he felt nothing at all. 

The next day, before school, he ripped the pages out and shoved it into his pocket. During lunch break he pulled Hendery and Heejin into an empty classroom to show them.

“Mark, this is fucking good,” Heejin said to him, reading over the crumpled pages.

He ran his hands through his hair, an awkward tick he’d developed, and replied with, “It’s just word vomit, I guess.”

“Nah, fuck that,” Hendery said from where he was leaning over Heejin’s shoulder. “It’s incredible, we should perform it.” 

Mark widened his eyes. “Dude, what? No way.”

Heejin gave Mark a grin, baring her teeth dangerously. “Yes, we should perform it!” she exclaimed, “Every other mediocre ass performer at the talent show will be performing covers, we could steal the fucking show with an original song!” She slammed the pages down on the table, eyes shining with glee. 

Mark grabbed the papers and cradled it to his chest like a baby, he glared at them both. “No, no, no way. I don’t even have chords… or a beat… some of these words don’t even rhyme. Can’t we just cover Green Day like we planned?” 

“Fuck Green Day!” Heejin shouted, throwing her hands up. “They have nothing on us.” 

Hendery laughed hysterically at her words, he gripped onto her leather jacket to balance himself.

Mark watched them, laughter bubbling up his own chest. He wanted this. He wanted it so badly. The three of them had dreams of making it big, ever since they were kids. Hendery on the drums, Heejin on the bass, Mark making it work with his shitty second-hand electric guitar. They were going places, he could feel it in his bones. Success was graffitied onto his ribcage. If letting the world— _well, his school—_ hear his heartbreak was the first step, then maybe he was willing. 

“Okay, fine, we can perform it.” He said. The other two cheered loudly.

They ditched the rest of the school day to work on the song. Hendery helped him come up with a beat, while he played with chords on his guitar. Heejin cleaned up the lyrics, helping the words flow together. Together they made a mess of midnight rambling into something magical, something to be proud of.

Two weeks later, Mark stood up on stage with his two best friends, a sea of high school kids staring back at him as he spoke into a mic. 

“Hi, we’re _Sweet Talkers,_ and this is an original song.” 

They won the talent show that night. Mark felt like a god. Then they went off stage after the show and Donghyuck approached his band, and Mark remembered he was just a boy, that there was nothing celestial about him. 

Donghyuck crossed his arms and stared Mark down, then he eyed Heejin and Hendery next to him, the two of them glaring at him. Mark felt a sense of pride at their hostility.

“I want to join your band.” Donghyuck told them. His eyes were back on Mark as he spoke.

“No fucking way,” Heejin replied, like the loyal best friend she was. “Can you even sing?”

“He can,” Mark answered for him, “And he’s amazing.” 

“Mark–” Hendery started off.

Donghyuck was watching him with a guarded expression but Mark could recognise the hope in his eyes, the passion, the reflection of craving that _something more_ to life that Mark craved. It’s what attracted him to Donghyuck in the first place. It’s what led to Mark’s next words.

“Saturday, Hendery’s house, bring your A-game and we’ll decide then.”

Donghyuck was the one that scored the band their first gig. A slot at an open mic for a gay bar in downtown Sydney. Mark asked Donghyuck how he got it and he just shot him a sly grin and said, “ _I have my ways”._ Mark decided then that he was still in love with the boy.

Hendery’s older sister got them all fake IDs, Mark repeated his fake birthday over and over like a mantra so he didn’t forget. He was never okay with breaking the rules. Heejin laughed at him, told him to pull the stick out of his ass, but held his shaky hands regardless when the bouncer checked his ID.

They played a mix of covers and a few original songs. The band was better with Donghyuck, he was the voice they were missing. The missing piece. With him, their sound was complete.

Mark looked out at the sea of strangers, they cheered loudly and sang along to the songs they recognised. The bar itself was one that was more unknown, more indie and it shone through with its crowd. A mix of LGBT teenagers and twenty somethings, all using music to escape their lives just for one night. Mark’s people.

The four of them stumbled off stage, high off their performance. Heejin laughed feverishly, she threw an arm around Mark’s shoulder and used the other to mess up his already unruly hair. 

“That was insane! We’re fucking insane,” she shrieked. The rest of them laughed along with her, faces red and drenched in sweat. 

Hendery bought them all drinks. Mark took a shot of vodka, decided he hated the taste and took three more. 

He let Hendery drag him to dance as the next band played. Mark had never been good at dancing but it didn’t matter, they were invisible in the crowd. He placed his hands on Hendery’s hips and laughed loudly as the boy moved them exaggeratedly. He danced with Hendery, he danced with Heejin, he danced with strangers and after his sixth shot of the night he danced with Donghyuck. 

And later, he pressed Donghyuck against the stall of the bar bathroom and kissed him with the same energy that he channeled when he was on stage. The younger boy tugged at his sweaty hair and pulled him closer. 

And because Mark was still sixteen, six shots deep and incredibly naive; he pulled away to mumble, “ _I love you,”_ against the boy’s lips. 

Donghyuck pulled away. He blinked at Mark through his own drunken haze.

“You don’t love me, Mark.” He said, letting out a tired sigh. 

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “Yes, I do. I’m in love with you, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck pushed him away by his shoulders, “No, you’re not.”

The alcohol and frustration in his veins caused his patience to wear out quickly, “You can’t tell me how I feel,”

“I _know_ you, Mark,” Donghyuck insisted, “You’re not in love with me, you don’t even know what love _is._ Writing a few songs about it doesn’t make you an expert.”

His words echoed loud and clear in the empty bathroom. 

“Don’t you get it?” Mark asked a bit desperately, “Those songs are about _you,”_

 _“You’re not writing about me!”_ Donghyuck yelled, “You’re writing about this idealised perfect version of me that you have in your head. I’m not that person Mark, you need to get over me. You need to move on.”

It was a sobering reality, the world was no longer hazy with liquor and drenched in a filter of pinks and purples. Mark’s hands shook and so did the ground he stood on. 

Donghyuck sighed, “I’m sorry for stringing you on like this, I’m– I’m sorry for everything,”

He shoved past Mark as he left the bathroom stall, leaving him dead alone for the first time that night. Alone for the first time in a long time. 

Mark was sixteen and heartbroken and drowning in the quiet of a bathroom stall when he realised that he never wanted to be alone again.

When Mark turned seventeen, he realised that the universe didn’t care about what he wanted. 

He sat in the basement of his house, picking at his hangnails while his parents fought upstairs. He curled into himself and hooked his chin over his knees, each shrill cry and insult hurled crawled down his throat and made a home in his lungs. It was so hard to breathe. He didn’t have the energy to seek a distraction, if he was smarter he’d dig out his headphones and play the noisiest song on his playlist. 

Instead he buried his head into his knees, digging his eyes against the rough denim of his jeans. He felt it dampened with tears. 

_This is my fault. This is my fault. This is my fault._

Because it was, wasn’t it? His parents had been ignoring each other for months. They had nothing but a hollow shell of a relationship. Two strangers living under the same roof, taking care of the same kid and refusing to file for divorce because they were as stubborn and prideful as the son they raised. 

It was Mark who had suggested the birthday dinner.

 _“I don’t need to do anything with my friends this year,”_ he told his mother a few days earlier while he was helping her wash the dishes, _“Maybe we could do something with dad, like a family dinner at home, we can even break out the old High School Musical dvds, you know? Like the old days?”_

Maybe it was the way his voice broke— desperation escaping through the cracks— that made his mother sent him a smile laced with pity and whisper, _“I’ll ask your father,”_

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid Mark._ It was better when his parents didn’t talk. Much better. He knew that now. 

The dinner was peaceful for all of twenty minutes before everyone in the room remembered they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. It was clockwork. As consistent as the hours in a day. As consistent as the ticking of the much too loud analog clock in Mark’s room. The same pattern of his mother’s sharp tongue hiding poison behind her sweet words and his father’s anger that made the whole room shake— or maybe just Mark. It was the emotional blackmail and manipulation and the bone deep fear that every year that Mark got older, he was a step closer to becoming exactly like them. 

He felt so helpless, so pathetic. He was _seventeen_ and the sound of his parents yelling still made him cry. He felt so childish, like he was eight years old and watching his parents fight for the first time; shattered glass scattered across the kitchen floor and the damaged plastered walls. He was too young to understand anything back then— he wondered if he still was. Their loud voices echoed through his head like a hammer against an anvil. He let out a shuddering breath and cried harder.

He couldn’t be here right now. 

He picked his head up and wiped the tears away, static clouded his vision. He reached blindly across the old couch to find his phone, switching it on to check the time. Almost two in the morning and his parents were still going at it. His screen lit up with notifications, birthday wishes, he swiped them away and stood up on shaky legs.

He grabbed the backpack he’d thrown onto the ground and his skateboard next to it. The steps creaked as he walked up the basement stairs, the yelling grew less muffled as Mark got closer. When Mark opened the door it was piercing, he stuck his fingers in his ears and pretended that it helped. The lights were off, lamp lights flickering, the second high school musical CD lay on the floor, cracked in half. Mark creeped through the front door before anyone could notice.

The night was quiet, the kind that welcomed him. Mark kicked off on his skateboard and rode it down the empty road. He contemplated going to Heejin’s house. The last time this happened he called her sobbing, _“come over,”_ she had told him, _“you don’t have to be alone right now,”_ and when he slipped in through her bedroom window, she hugged him until he calmed down and they fell asleep with their pinkies intertwined. His chest ached at the memory. 

She only lived a few blocks away. He hated skateboarding down her street because the roads were so uneven, it took years of scratches and pokemon plasters to memorise which holes to avoid. Heejin’s house was a suburban, white picket fenced wet dream. The lawn was mowed to perfection and her mom even had a rose garden. When Mark was feeling ugly, he allowed himself to feel envious of her life. She had two mothers who loved each other as much as they loved her and she never had to count the change in her pockets and wonder if she could afford her next meal. (He knew her life wasn’t perfect either— he’d witnessed the ugliness and imperfections of it first hand— but sometimes it was easier to pretend). 

Heejin was raised with love. Mark was desperate for some of that right now. Even though it was just beyond his grasp, even though the lights in her room were on, a warm yellow amongst the darkness of everything else. Even though he had been there so many times he could climb up to her second storey window with a blindfold on. Embarrassment still licked at his chest, at the feeling of wanting to be comforted, of wanting to be held by his best friend and being told that everything would be okay. 

So instead, he got back on his board and made his way down the empty street. Stubborn and prideful. 

Mark didn’t like being alone, but being alone at a skatepark in the dead of night—that was an entirely different tier of dislike. He hated it. The swing set squeaked eerily and the lamplights flickered as Mark tried to perfect a skateboard trick that Hendery taught him. The wheels of the skateboard crashing against the concrete echoed through the park as he failed another jump. 

Something moved quickly, catching the corner of Mark’s eyes and making him startle. He turned around suddenly to see a blur of a black hoodie and basketball shorts approaching the playground. Mark scrambled to pick up his skateboard, ignoring the way the rough surface scratched at his knuckles. He needed to leave before this random stranger murdered him. Mark couldn’t die on his seventeenth birthday, boys in songs were always seventeen and no one had written a song about him yet. 

But then the figure pulled back their hoodie, revealing a boy who looked no older than Mark. The boy crouched onto the ground, unzipping their bag and pulling something out. Mark squinted, it shone in the moonlight — _a knife?_ — his eyes widened— nevermind, it was a can of spray paint. 

Mark rolled his eyes. It was no murderer, just another kid adding to the collection of dicks painted on the playground. 

He walked closer to the boy. Call it curiosity, idiocy or just a general lack of survival instincts, but there was something intriguing about a stranger vandalising a children’s park alone in the middle of the night.

The faint sound of music madeMark realise the boy hadn’t heard him approach because he had his earphones in. He got a closer look at the graffiti and was surprised to find that rather than dicks, the boy was painting flowers over the brightly coloured slide. The flowers were pretty, but it was still strange.

“You know that’s illegal, right?” Mark said loudly. 

The boy jumped up, spray paint rattling onto the concrete and rolling away as he looked at Mark with a terrified expression.

“What the fuck?” he said a bit breathlessly, clutching at his chest. 

Mark grinned, “Hi, you know that’s illegal, right?” 

The boy rolled his eyes, still looking disgruntled. He reached over and picked up the stray can of paint.

“Thanks, I had no idea,” he replied dryly.

He went back to painting his flowers, Mark wrinkled his nose at the fumes.

“Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night?” Mark asked.

The boy stopped painting and glared up at him, “Don’t you?” he countered.

He sat on the floor next to the boy. 

“Actually, no I don’t,” he said.

The boy gave him a strange look, blinking at Mark with large owl-like eyes for much longer than what was considered normal.

He sighed and dropped down to sit, “Yeah, me neither,”

Mark giggled, “What’s your name, strange boy?”

The boy furrowed his eyebrows, “You’re the strange one if you think I’m giving out my name to a rando,” 

“Fine, I’ll tell you mine first, I’m Mark,” 

He squinted in suspicion, “How do I know you’re not making it up?”

“Why would I make it up?”

“I don’t know, _Mark_ sounds like a made up name,”

“I can show you my ID,” 

“ _Why_ are you carrying your ID?”

“Why aren’t you? You never know what’s going to happ–”

“Fine!” the boy relented, “My name is Jeno,”

Mark smiled victoriously, “Nice to meet you, Jeno,”

Jeno smiled back, “Nice to meet you too, _strange boy,”_

“So, Jeno,” Mark said, leaning his head back against one of the poles that held the playground up, “What brings you to the park this late like some sort of weird loner?” 

Jeno snorted, “Says the one who creeped up on me,”

“I wasn’t creeping! Your music was way too loud,”

“Okay, _loner,”_ he replied. He looked down, fiddling with the can in his hands, and then said, “Had a rough night and painting calms me, what about you?”

“I had a rough night too,” Mark replied, feeling talkative for some unknown reason.

Jeno lifted his head, eyes glistening, now that Mark had a closer look, he really was quite pretty. His features blurred together under the dim lighting, soft eyes and softer looking skin. 

“I’ll share mine if you share yours?” the boy offered in a way that made Mark giggle again. 

“It’s my birthday,” Mark said, and it seemed to be enough of an explanation because the boy’s eyes suddenly became sad. 

“You shouldn’t be spending it alone,” he replied. 

“I’m not alone though,” Mark replied, raising his eyebrows cheekily. 

“I guess you’re not,” Jeno mused, “Happy birthday, or whatever,”

“Thanks, or whatever,” Mark mocked back.

Jeno sighed, he moved to sit closer to Mark, leaning his head against the same pole. They both stared straight ahead of them. 

“I fought with my best friend,” Jeno said,

“What did you fight about?”

He shrugged, “Something stupid, it’s always something stupid,”

He sounded faraway, like he was reliving the fight. His expression turned gloomy and Mark searched his brain for something consoling to say. He may be a songwriter but he was terrible with words.

“I fought with my best friend too,” Mark said, and then corrected himself, “Well, one of them,” 

Jeno tilted his head at him, “About what?”

“I’m in love with him,” Mark said easily, the words a permanent taste on his tongue by now, “but he says I’m not,”

Jeno frowned, it was an adorable thing, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pulled down in the least intimidating way ever, “Who is he to tell you how to feel?”

Mark’s chest warmed at the sight of a stranger getting defensive for him.

“I don’t know,” he replied shrugging, “I’m starting to think he’s right,”

Jeno didn’t say anything for a while, and Mark thought, maybe he’s bad with words too. Somewhere in the distance, a car drove by. Jeno reached over and grabbed Mark's skateboard, which lay upside down and forgotten. 

“No more talking about sad things,” he declared, “Here, I’ll paint you some flowers as a birthday present,”

It wasn’t a question so Mark didn’t reply. Who was he to deny a pretty boy offering him flowers?

He pulled a bag of chips out of his backpack and they shared it amongst themselves while Jeno painted, Mark occasionally chiming in with commentary or questions. Jeno seemed to be well versed in his knowledge of flowers, naming each one he painted and describing their meanings.

“What about you?” Jeno asked after rambling about peonies, “What do you do?”

Mark frowned, what a vague question.

“I’m in a band,” he said, because it felt like the most obvious answer. 

“Are you any good?” Jeno asked.

Mark blinked, was he any good? It felt like a trick question. So instead he pulled out his phone.

“Decide for yourself,” 

His thumb hovered over the song he wrote for Donghyuck. _No more sad things,_ Jeno’s voice reminded him, so he scrolled to one of their more recent tracks. 

They were about thirty seconds into the song when Jeno lifted his head up from the board, owl eyes staring right into Mark’s own, he said nothing but his mouth opened slightly. His expression was completely unreadable, it made Mark sweat nervously. 

He said nothing until the song finished, and then:

“Dude, that was _you?”_

Mark’s face suddenly felt warm, “Well me and my friends, but I did most of the vocals for this one,”

“You’re fucking good, play it again,”

So Mark did. And each time the song ended, Jeno told him to play it again. 

Mark laughed, putting the song on loop when he realised that Jeno wasn’t going to stop, “You’re going to get sick of the song,”

Jeno grinned up at him, baring all his teeth like a cheshire cat.

“Don’t you know?” he said, like it was a secret, “A good song never dies.”

The sky turned a lighter colour as Jeno finished up his painting. His eyes widened as he noticed the rising sun,

“Fuck,” Jeno said, hastily packing his things, “I have to go before my parents realise I’m gone,”

Mark scrambled up to follow him, 

“Wait,” he said but he didn’t know why. The chapter felt incomplete, like the author had left it mid sentence, Jeno couldn’t leave now.

Jeno just turned around, flashing Mark a grin. 

“It was nice to meet you Mark,” he said, taking off before Mark could let out another word. 

Mark didn’t see Jeno again. He wasn’t expecting to. Boys like that were like meteor showers, you’d be lucky to even catch a glimpse. Maybe it was the flowers on his board or the way Jeno spoke like he never had a burden in his life, but that night left Mark hopeful for seventeen.

Later that morning, he went to school with reddened eyes. Heejin left balloons in his locker and people wished him they passed him in the hallways. During lunch, Hendery covered Mark’s eyes with his hands and led him to the soccer fields. When he uncovered his eyes, Mark blinked against the bright light to find his friends all there, sitting around a cake with his name on it. Maybe it was the sleepless night he had before or the way every single emotion felt heightened at seventeen, but Mark burst into tears at the sight. 

It was embarrassing in the way that Heejin had to blow out the candles because Mark’s breathing was too frantic for him to stop. It was embarrassing in the way Donghyuck had to rub his back while Hendery wrapped his arms around Mark’s shoulders and whispered _it’s okay, we love you too,_ until the tears stopped falling.

It was humiliating, it was unpleasant, it was perfect. 

He pulled his friends— his band— into a group hug and hoped they understood. 

The year went by in quiet motions. _Sweet Talkers_ struggled with finding any more gigs since no one wanted to hire a bunch of sad looking teenagers to perform. They stuck to performing covers at school events. Mark wrote songs whenever and wherever he could. In history class on a scrap piece of paper, or behind his chemistry textbook over equations that he didn’t care to understand. 

Mark usually showed his first song drafts to Heejin and Hendery, the pair were ruthless with their feedback in the exact way Mark needed them to be. The first time he showed Donghyuck a song he wrote, it took them both by surprise. 

“This isn’t about me,” was the first thing Donghyuck said, surprise coating his tone in a way that was almost comical. 

They were sitting on the floor of Hendery’s garage, rehearsal was over because Heejin had to leave early. Hendery went to grab them snacks and Mark, on impulse, took this stolen moment as an opportunity. 

“How can you tell?”

Donghyuck shrugged, “I just can.”

Mark decided he was done with writing songs about Donghyuck. He didn’t know anything about love but he knew that Donghyuck wasn’t his forever boy. 

He wasn’t some sun kissed ethereal being there to solve all of Mark’s problems with a kiss. He was just a teenage boy. It wasn’t healthy for either of them for Mark to expect so much from him— expect love from him. He understood that now. 

“Who is it about?” Donghyuck asked. 

“A boy I met on my birthday,” Mark replied, “He intrigued me,” 

Donghyuck pat his crossed legs twice, “Tell me about him,” 

So Mark rested his head in Donghyuck’s lap and did just that. 

Mark’s mother was an eccentric woman. She was loud and brass, the ground shook and the walls rattled as she walked by. She worked three jobs and came home tired every night. She was a passionate woman, driven by dreams and desires. She always encouraged Mark to do the same– encouraged the band. She had given up dreams of her own to raise Mark, at times he wondered if she was living through him. If she saw Mark as an extension of herself. 

Mark’s father was on the more timid side. Quiet steps like a mouse, only angered when pushed further enough. He worked from home and spent most of the day cooped up in his office. He rarely came out for meals. On the days that his mother had work, Mark ate alone. He was more practical, he reminded Mark to stay in school, improve his grades. The band wasn’t a stable career path– he needed a backup plan. It was a good balance for Mark. It worked on paper. On paper they loved each other. On paper they loved Mark and he loved them back, dearly. He wished that were enough. 

They were great people; they brought out the worst in each other. 

Mark reckoned he got the worst of them both— a cocktail of anxiety and displaced aggression shaken up inside the body of a teenage boy. 

They expressed love in different ways too. His dad was rarely affectionate— nagging him to eat, cutting up fruit for him, buying him new wheels for his skateboard without him having to ask. Mark’s mother was the opposite. She loved hugs and cheek kisses, she held his hand and ruffled his hair and Mark had to remind himself not to flinch.

After each fight she would come to Mark’s room, eyes swollen with tears and shaky hands. Mark was exhausted with getting caught in the middle of it— but how could he deny his crying mother? He wasn’t cruel. 

It went differently each time. 

Sometimes it was door slamming and frantically cleaning Mark’s room as she rambled. 

“I hate your father,” she would tell him.

“I know,” Mark would reply. 

Then she glared at him, “I hate you too. You inherited everything I hate about him.” 

“I know,” Mark would reply.

Other times she needed comforting. She would squeeze in with him on the twin sized bed and he’d bring her into his arms. Stroking her hair gently as she cried.

She’d stare at him, runny nose and face wet.

“You’re all I have Mark,” she said, “You’ll never leave me right?”

And what else could Mark say?

“I’ll never leave you, Mama.” 

Mark’s home life was complicated to say the least. He preferred spending his time in Hendery’s garage, rehearsing late with the band so his parents were asleep by the time he got home. The band made it easy to pretend everything was okay. Hendery’s garage was a time capsule buried in the sand, they stayed there, playing music, writing songs, laughing and talking while life passed by all around them. It didn’t matter to them that the centuries were ticking by, because what was more important than friendship and good music?

One particular Saturday night, he stayed at Hendery’s house later than usual. The fighting at home was getting worse and it was getting harder to be around his parents. The floorboards of their house were covered in eggshells, one wrong step and Mark got caught up in it too. It was better for him to avoid the hurricane until it went away.

It was nearing midnight. Hendery was drumming away, learning a new cover that they were to perform for their end of the year assembly. Mark was sprawled across the cool floor, laying on his stomach and notebook opened as he doodled in the margins. He was struggling to write new songs lately, it wasn’t writers block– he didn’t believe in writer's block. An emotional block maybe, nothing profound enough has happened for him to write about. So he stuck with sketching his best friend drumming in the corner of his page. 

Hendery stopped playing. He carelessly dropped his sticks to the floor and walked over to Mark, there was sweat in his hair and running down his face. Mark wrinkled his nose at the sight. 

He sat down cross legged next to Mark and poked him.

“It’s almost one, do you want to sleep over?”

Mark widened his eyes, he didn’t realise how late it had gotten. 

“Oh shit sorry dude–” he scrambled to get up, “I didn’t mean to stay so late, sorry,”

Hendery grabbed his arm before he could move, “Hey, you’re okay, you can stay as long as you want. How are things at home?”

He sat back down, unable to meet Hendery’s unrelenting gaze. It was always hard to talk about these things. 

“Fine,” he answered. 

Hendery tutted, it sounded so authoritative he had to look up and make sure Hendery wasn’t replaced by one of his teachers. 

“What did we say about that word?”

Mark sighed, “It’s getting worse,”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Hendery was one of the more practical ones in the band. In the rare moments of seriousness, he offered solutions and ideas rather than comfort. Mark appreciated it– the boy was perfect to rob a bank with. 

“Not really. I’m just so tired of all, you’d think I’d be used to it by now,”

He placed a hand on Mark’s thigh, “There’s no getting used to shit like this,”

“I guess not, aye,” he picked Hendery’s hand up with his own and played with his fingers, 

“Home doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore, I wish I could move out– get some peace of mind,”

“So let’s move out,” Hendery said, like it was that fucking easy.

Mark laughed dryly, “Good one.” 

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “We graduate soon and we’re almost eighteen,”

“It’s not that easy, Hendery,” Mark said, “We need money,”

“So we’ll work!” he replied excitedly, “I’m sure my parents will help us out if I ask.”

Ah, Mark almost forgot where he was. In the garage of a house located in one of the richest neighbourhoods in Sydney. 

It was an intriguing offer, Hendery was handing him an escape on a silver platter. There was only one problem.

“I can’t leave my mum,” he said, “She needs me,”

“You can still visit her,” 

“Dad is pretty independent, he can survive on his own,” Mark explained, “But my mum she– she needs someone to take care of her,”

“That’s not your job, Mark.”

“It is my job,” and his voice must’ve been stern because Hendery faltered. 

“Fine, but let’s just keep the option open, okay?” he said, “I, for one, would love to move as far away from my brother as possible,”

Mark laughed, the subject was dropped. He stayed the night at Hendery’s, he lay in the sleeping bag while the boy snored on the bed beside him, watching the ceiling and replaying their conversation in his head. His ticket to freedom, if only he was brave enough to take it.

Mark turned eighteen at a house party surrounded by strangers. The mix of Mark’s birthday and exam season looming over them gave Heejin enough premise to throw a house party while her parents were out of town. He didn’t mind the company of strangers too much. They all sang to him as he cut the cake and chanted his name, it felt a bit like being on stage.

Eighteen was spent drunkenly singing a Justin Beiber song with Donghyuck, only to have the boy outshine him when it came to the high notes. It was spent playing beer pong with Hendery and his friends, Mark’s terrible aim and lightweightedness was not a good combination for a game like that. It was spent doing shots with strangers and getting compliments for his music and stumbling through the house in search of Heejin. He found her in the basement. Earlier that evening they decorated the basement with balloons and streamers, Heejin’s mum even let them set up the pool table. There was less of a crowd downstairs, it was mostly reserved for Heejin’s closer friends. A few kids were crowded around the pool table, others were crowded around a kid with a guitar. If Mark was sober enough he would’ve offered to play something. Heejin was sitting alone on a single couch, legs pulled up to her chin as she held a plastic cup with both her hands and watched the contents inside, like reading tea leaves. She looked unusually somber. 

He sat on the arm of the sofa, “It’s illegal to be upset on my birthday, punishable by death,”

Heejin glanced up and scoffed at him, “I’m not upset,”

She moved over the make space for Mark on the small couch, he kicked his legs across her lap and threw them off the other end of the armchair. 

“Then why are you staring at your drink like it called you a slur?”

Heejin shrugged, “Maybe it did.”

“Do I have to pry?” he asked, “Because I will be annoying about it.”

Heejin rolled her eyes.

“It’s just so surreal,” she said, “We’re leaving all this soon,”

She gestures towards the room, the people chugging beer while others chanted, those dancing to the boy who picked up the guitar, a few kids plucked the balloons off the walls and were inhaling the helium from it.

“Is it really so bad?” Mark asked, watching her eyes flit between the people, “High school wasn’t so kind to us,”

Heejin shrugged, “It’s familiar, what will we have when it’s all gone?”

“We’ll have each other,” Mark said with certainty. 

She turned back to look at him, brown eyes filling up with warmth. 

“Yeah, that’s right. We’ll have each other.” 

She held her palm out for Mark to take, and he locked their fingers together. 

The door to the basement opened and Donghyuck walked in, his laughter travelling in before he did. He was with a dark haired girl, she looked unimpressed with whatever joke he was cracking, but Donghyuck was ever persistent. 

“His latest crush?” Heejin guessed, watching as Donghyuck walked over to the table to pour her a drink. 

Mark nodded, “Lia from the football team, he literally doesn’t shut up about her. It would be cute if it wasn’t so annoying.”

Heejin laughed. She was back to watching Mark but this time with a more curious gaze.

“How are you feeling with the whole Donghyuck thing?” 

Mark gave her a look, “It’s not a _thing,”_

“You know what I mean,”

His eyes flickered back to the other boy, the ends of his hair which he dyed blonde was growing out, falling past his shoulder, he was really selling the punk rock look that _Sweet Talkers_ needed. It suited him, he’d grown into himself over the years. 

“I’m fine,” he said, then corrected himself before Heejin could, “I mean, I’m better. I still love Donghyuck but not in— not in that way. He’s my best friend, that’s it.”

Heejin smiled, she brought their clasped hands to her lips and kissed the back of Mark’s hand. 

“I’m proud of you, Mark,”

He smiled back, eyes getting teary. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d cried on his birthday.

A few moments of comfortable silence pass by them.

“You know,” Mark said, “In another life we’d be great together.”

Heejin snorted, “You couldn’t handle all this, Mark Lee.”

He lay his head on her shoulder, the position was a strain on his back but he didn’t mind. 

“No, seriously, we should get married, adopt a few dogs and move to New York, what do you say?”

Heejin sighed, running her hands through Mark’s hair.

“In a perfect life, maybe,” she relented, “but in this one, I’m spoken for.”

Her eyes travelled across the room and something sorrowful, like the expression she was wearing before Mark approached her passed over her face. Mark followed her gaze to see Olivia Hye across the room, laughing with one of the older girls that were crouched over the pool table.

“And you think she could handle all of you?” Mark asked. 

Heejin turned her head to give him a bewildered look, “Are you kidding? It’s _me_ who can’t handle _her_ , she’s incredible, and I’m…” she trails off.

Mark frowned, it was so unlike Heejin to talk down about herself. In fact, most of their friendship was him trying to bring her back down to earth.

He pinched her thigh. 

“Ouch!” she all but screecheed, “What the fuck, Lee?”

“What the fuck, Jeon?” he parroted, “You’re an idiot if you think you aren’t cool enough for her. First of all you’re a total badass and secondly, you play the bass! I’m telling you right now that you’re good enough to tap that ass,”

Heejin rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the way her ears turned a glorious pink. 

“You’re so annoying,” she said. 

“I love you too,” came his response. 

Graduating hit Mark like an asteroid. It left him in a crater surrounded by the flames of exams season, stress eating and figuring out how to tell his dad that he didn’t want to go to university. After a night of serious contemplation— and hotboxing in Hendery’s car— he realised that university wasn’t for him. Music was his life and he wanted to commit to it fully, he wanted to spend his days writing and his nights performing. Higher education didn’t fit anywhere in that. 

After his graduation ceremony, Mark left the school grounds for the last time and went straight to the gay bar in downtown Sydney. The same one Sweet Talkers had performed their first gig at. The same one Mark had gotten his heart broken at. _After Midnight,_ the neon sign read in flashing red. It looked much different in broad daylight, less like it was the first taste Mark had of his dreams and more like a– normal bar.

He dropped off his resume with the bartender on duty. He had to start somewhere, right?

Hendery moved out of his house and into an apartment closer to the city. Mark didn’t move in with him. 

Home was home. Mark couldn’t stay but he couldn’t leave either. 

To his absolute delight, Mark got the job bartending at After Midnight. The summer passed by with working, going to parties and practicing with the band. Hendery was the only one going to university– a commerce degree, god knows why. Donghyuck got a job at a records store and spent most of his days writing music with Mark while Heejin took various online courses so she wouldn’t die of boredom. 

Mark’s manager Johnny was an intriguing man. He came to work wearing high heels, he played the saxophone like a god and every now and then he would offer Mark a piece of completely unsolicited advice. Sometimes it was helpful— songwriting tips, drink making hacks, how to correctly work the sound system. Other times it was hurried rambling that Mark could barely understand through Johnny’s heavy Australian accent, letting him know the dangers of falling in love with a stranger on League of Legends. Mark didn’t ask, it seemed personal.

Regardless of his manager’s eccentric traits— or maybe because of— Mark found himself admiring him. It was the way he carried himself. With the confidence Mark could only hope to possess. He was secure in his talents while Mark needed an army to validate his songwriting before he even thought about recording it. Johnny became a mentor; he became a friend. 

“Have you ever dabbled in music production?” Johnny asked him one day. They closed up the pub for the night and he brought out his DJing equipment.

Mark shook his head, pulling himself up to sit on top of the bar, he could wipe it down later. 

“I mostly just write and come up with chords, Hendery likes producing,”

Johnny hummed, fiddling with the buttons on the setup. Mark offhandedly mentioned that Dj-ing was an interest of his and Johnny brought in the equipment he happened to own, claiming that he always wanted to teach it to someone. So there Mark was, about to receive the lesson. Boy was he glad he chose working at After Midnight over university. 

“So, hey,” Johnny said after he finished setting up, “One of our regular performers dropped out and a spot opened up to perform every Saturday night, it’s yours if you want it,”

Mark’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding,”

Johnny laughed, like he hadn’t just said something that could change Mark’s entire career. 

“Sweet Talkers are good,” he said, “I believe in you kids and this is my way of showing it,”

He hopped off the counter and pulled Johnny into a crushing hug, because fuck professionalism. Johnny had just offered him the stepping stone to something great. Mark could almost taste the fame at his lips, Sweet Talkers were one step closer to reaching the sun.

Mark wrote a song about Johnny. He never showed anyone. Never released it. Never performed it. 

The thing about their Saturday gig was that it wasn’t the clear cut highway to fame that Mark was expecting. Don’t get him wrong, Mark loved it. He loved performing every week, the adrenaline rush of hearing a crowd cheer and the bass in his bones. The only thing was, they weren’t anywhere close to getting discovered. Other than views on YouTube and getting tagged on Instagram stories, Sweet Talkers weren’t getting as much traffic as they hoped. 

One night, after a particularly bad set, the four of them were crowded around a table in the corner of the bar and sulking into their drinks. There was hardly a crowd that night, those who showed up were barely paying attention to their performance. It was hard playing to a disinterested audience, it was hard having your voice ignored. 

“One bad performance won’t define us,” Mark said. Their spirits were low. Even Donghyuck, the usual mood maker of the group, was having a hard time believing in them, much less himself. 

“We sucked out there,” Heejin huffed out, arms crossed on top of the table as she lay her head on it. The stray hairs from her ponytail fell over her eyes but Mark could still see the fatigue behind them. 

“Every week we perform and nothing happens, it’s starting to feel useless,” Hendery added, leaning back against the wooden chair. 

Donghyuck was next to Mark, he rested a hand on his thigh, scared eyes boring into Mark’s own. 

“What if we don’t make it?” he asked. 

“We’ll make it,” Mark said firmly. Placing a hand on top of Donghyuck’s. He looked out to the rest of them, “I believe in us, we’ll make it.” 

They were his band, his family. The four of them could set the world to flames if they wanted to. They’d make it. 

Sometimes, Mark doubted if they would make it. Sometimes it felt hopeless. Music was hard and fame was harder. You had to stand out — be different to make something of yourself. You had to be something great. And how great were four kids from Sydney? How far could they really go? 

But it didn’t matter what he thought. Because he was their leader, and a leader never stopped believing in their team.

Hope came to them on a Saturday night so stormy that it made the pub windows rattle. The crowd was scarcer than ever, a few customers trickling in and bringing rainwater in with them. The band almost considered not performing, what was the point? But Mark insisted that they do because at least the couple people getting drunk off beer while the storm clouds raged on outside deserved some form of entertainment. He was glad he convinced them. Beyond glad.

After finishing the final song, hope came to them in the form of a man wearing a trench coat and a bowler hat. The man approached the band after the show, taking his hat off and greeting them with a brilliant smile. 

“You kids have talent,” he said, “It’s tough playing to a dead bar but you made it work,”

“Thank you,” Mark replied, “We’re used to playing like this by now,”

“What a shame,” the man said, “Music like yours deserves to be heard by thousands.”

Mark scratches the back of his head, unsure how to respond. He glanced to the others but to no avail, they were all wearing matching expressions of confusion. 

The man handed Mark his business card, “I manage Panic Vertigo and they’re looking for someone to open a few of their concerts here in Sydney, if you’re interested.”

Donghyuck pushed past Mark, eyes gleaming. “ _Panic Vertigo?_ You’re fucking kidding,”

The man chuckled, “The name’s Doyoung Kim, call me if you’re interested.”

He turned, putting his hat back on and disappearing out the door, back into the harsh rain. Mark bewilderedly wondered if he had hallucinated the entire encounter. But Donghyuck is looking at him with stars in his eyes so Mark thought that maybe it was real. 

The first night of their first concert, Mark was a mess of nerves and jitters. He paced the waiting room while the others tuned their instruments and the crowd formed outside. He could hear talking, laughing, chanting. The crowd wasn’t there for Sweet Talkers, they were there for Panic Vertigo. Which was comforting, in a way. And also terrifying. 

“Can you stop pacing?” Hendery asks from where he was drumming on the table, “Just watching you makes me want to throw up,”

Mark halted, crossing his arms “Only if you stop hitting the table with your stupid sticks,”

Hendery scowls, _“_ I’m _practising,”_

 _“_ You’re making _pointless noise,”_

“Local band breaks up before their first concert,” Heejin said, “I can see the headlines now.”

“Like we’re relevant enough for a headline,” Donghyuck chimed in. 

Mark snorted and took the seat next to Hendery. He was calm for all of one second until the lead singer of Panic Vertigo walked in, glitter scattered over her cheekbones and lips lined with burgundy. 

“You guys ready for the show?” Haseul asked. 

“Barely,” Mark mumbled, “I feel like I’m going to throw up.” 

Haseul chuckled. Despite meeting her and the rest of the band plenty of times before the show, Mark couldn’t help feeling a little bit starstruck at the sight of her. Based on the way Donghyuck was unusually quiet, he probably wasn’t the only one. 

“Pre-show jitters,” Haseul said, “They never go away, no matter how many concerts you play.”

“That’s reassuring,” 

“You’ll be fine,” she says, reaching over to ruffle Mark’s hair. He pulled away just in time, famous singer or not, he was not letting her mess up his freshly styled hair. She settled for pinching his ear, “The audience will love you, trust me, I know my demographic.”

“Thanks,” Heejin said, “It means alot, especially coming from you,”

“No problem, cutie,” Haseul replied, winking at the younger girl, “I’ll leave you guys to get ready, break a leg out there.”

When she left, Donghyuck reached over to shove Heejin’s shoulder. 

“I can’t believe Haseul Cho just _winked at you,_ ” he said bitterly, “What do you have that _I_ don’t.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Heejin replied, stroking her chin and feigning contemplation, “Good looks, a charming personality, the ability to _actually form coherent words around her?_ ”

Donghyuck’s glare was deadly, he lurched for Heejin and wrestled her into the couch, she retaliated by kicking and screaming. 

Mark sighed, they had to be on stage in five minutes. 

“Try not to go for his throat,” he informs Heejin, who was half on top of Donghyuck and about to put him in a chokehold, “We need our lead singer in good shape tonight.”

When Mark was on stage, he was a god. The nerves fizzled out of him as soon as they began their first song. He breathed fire into the mic and the ground ripped open with lava, his electric guitar played through the speakers and the entire venue shook like an earthquake. The bass replaced his heartbeat and every nerve lit up like strobing lights that shone down on him. He glanced back at Hendery on the drums, hitting every beat perfectly, bangs pulled back by a headband while sweat dripped down his face. Heejin abandoned her own mic to sing into Mark’s, their lips inches away from each other, sending him a playful wink. He rolled his eyes at her and let his gaze move to the centre of the stage where Donghyuck began singing, overpowering everyone else’s, voice selfish like honey, refusing to give way to any other taste.

As Mark watched his bandmates on stage, he thought they all looked like gods. They were ten feet tall with pure light radiating off their skin, they were a force to be reckoned with. The altar was their stage, their worship was music. Mark had never really believed in much, but he believed in them.

They stumbled off stage on a high unlike any other. The screams of the crowd never left Mark’s ears. He was addicted to it, he couldn’t get enough of it. Being on stage, singing, basking in the attention of hundreds. He wanted to do this for the rest of his life. 

“We fucking killed it,” Donghyuck all but screamed, “We’re unstoppable, immortal, the greatest band in the world!”

Hendery let out a howl of laughter, sounding completely unhinged. 

Mark wrapped one arm over Heejin’s shoulders and another around Hendery’s. Across from him, Donghyuck did the same and they formed a band huddle.

“I’m proud of us,” Mark said, “I’m so proud of every single one of you,”

“Don’t get cheesy on us, Markie,” Hendery teased.

“I love you guys,” he said, “This band is everything to me,”

Donghyuck was looking directly at him, brown eyes shining with unshed tears, “We love you too Mark,”

“That’s enough of being corny, let’s go celebrate.”

In true classic rock and roll fashion, they got incredibly shitfaced. They bar hopped across the city, being obnoxious and loud and replaying the same three songs on the jukeboxes until they were banned from using it. They were leaving their fourth bar when Mark gained a brilliant idea. 

“We should get matching tattoos,” he announced. 

Heejin, who was sitting on the curb with her head between her knees, glanced up at him in disbelief. 

“No way in hell,” she said. 

She had thrown up in a trashcan earlier and decided to go sober for the rest of the night. So currently, she was the most rational out of all of them. 

Hendery let out a thunderous burp, “I’m with Heejin on this one, my body is a temple dude,”

Donghyuck snorted, “You just filled your temple with like six shots of tequila,”

“Come on guys!” Mark said, voice echoing loudly through the crowded streets filled with drunk adolescents, “We just had our first concert! We need to commemorate it!”

Sure, he was drunk off alcohol, but he was still reeling off the high of being on stage— that was much more intoxicating. 

“You get a tattoo then,” Heejin said, _“Alone,”_

There was no point trying to change Heejin’s mind. He looked to Donghyuck, his last resort, lip jutting out slightly as he fixed the boy with pleading eyes. 

Donghyuck groaned, shoving Mark’s shoulder, “Man, don’t look at me like that,”

“You don’t want to get matching tattoos with me?” he asked, “Your best friend in the entire world?”

“You’re so annoying,” Donghyuck said, “Let’s go find a tattoo place.”

Fate was a curious thing. Something only the wishful and lonely believed in. Mark didn’t think the universe with all its galaxies worried too much about insignificant little him. He didn’t think there were gods looking out for him, or a beautiful lady named Fate who sat in the clouds and led him through the good and the bad. But walking into the first tattoo parlour they found and seeing a familiar face, one that he could recognise despite the years that had gone by, one that he hadn’t seen since his seventeenth birthday. That felt akin to fate.

Mark walked into the tattoo parlour with Donghyuck hanging off his shoulder and the others following closely behind him. He marched right up to the front desk with determination. He was serious about this tattoo, this night had been one of the best in his life and what better way to remember it then with permanent ink on his skin? 

The boy at the desk looked up at him from where he was sketching into his pad. Mark blinked at him through his drunken haze, familiarity and surprise settling into his bones. 

“Jeno?” 

It was undoubtedly him. He had grown up well over the past two years. His hair was blonde now and shaved at the sides, a stark difference to the mop of black it had once been. He was covered in tattoos, his arms burst with colours and beautiful drawings, leaving little to no skin. His neck was inhabited with butterflies and a constellation of stars was tattooed under his left eye. He looked different, mature, but he had the same owl-like eyes filled with curiosity and wonder. The same cheekbones, same nose despite the piercing that occupied it. It was Jeno, right there in front of him, watching him with his head tilted in shock. 

“Mark?” he said, “The boy from the park?”

“You remember me,” Mark breathed out. 

Jeno grinned, “I don’t think I could ever forget it,”

Donghyuck poked Mark’s side, and he startled. He almost forgot he was there.

“Do you know this dude?” he whispered, loudly. 

“He’s the boy I met on my seventeenth birthday, the one I told you about,”

“Oh, the one you wrote a song about,” Donghyuck said, without bothering to whisper that time. 

_“Donghyuck!”_ Mark hissed out. 

Jeno snorted, eyes glittering with amusement. Mark was mortified. 

Thankfully, the other boy dropped it. 

“So what can I do for you?” he asked. 

“Huh?” Mark said, belatedly remembering what he was doing here in the first place, “Oh, we want to get tattoos,” 

“Perfect,” Jeno said, pulling out a few folders, “Do you have a design in mind or would you like to browse through ours?”

“We’ll look through designs,” Mark said without confirming with Donghyuck, he deserved it for being such a big-mouth, “I’m not too picky,”

“I’m Donghyuck, by the way,” Donghyuck cut in, sticking his hand out to shake Jeno’s. 

“I’m Jeno.”

“Oh, I know,” Donghyuck replied, tone suggestive. Mark wasn’t a violent person, but he was beginning to contemplate murder. 

“Are your friends okay?” Jeno asked, gesturing behind him. 

Mark turned to find Hendery laying on one of the chairs, Heejin next to him, leaning against his thigh. Both of them were fast asleep.

“They’re fine,” Mark said, looking back at Jeno, “We had a few drinks, them more than us,” 

Jeno’s eyes widened, “You’re drunk?”

Mark nodded stupidly. 

“I’m sorry but I can’t serve you. It’s against store policy to tattoo someone who is intoxicated,” 

Mark frowned, “That is _so_ not rock and roll.”

Jeno shrugged, his smile was apologetic and even that looked gorgeous on him. 

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow and I can give you any tattoo you want?” 

_“Fuck yeah,_ I’m not getting my skin stabbed tonight! _”_ Donghyuck cheered, he reached over and grabbed Jeno’s arm, “Dude, you just saved my life,” 

Mark glared at him as he walked away and plopped himself onto the Hendery-Heejin pile. 

He leaned forward, arms propped onto the desk and pouted at Jeno. His rational brain wasn’t thinking tonight which allowed him to bring out the _puppy dog eyes_. 

“I _really_ wanted a tattoo tonight,” 

“Tell you what,” Jeno relented, “You can sit here with me until you sober up and then you can pick whatever tattoo you like,” 

“Are you sure?” Mark asked.

Jeno shrugged, “I close up really late and it looks like your friends aren’t leaving anytime soon,” 

“Sorry about them,” Mark said, gesturing behind him “My band,” 

“It’s fine,” he replied, “So your band thing is still going strong?” 

Mark moved around the desk to sit next to Jeno. The boy handed him a water bottle which he took gratefully. 

“Strong enough,” he said. 

“I’m glad,” Jeno said genuinely, “You guys are awesome,”

Mark huffed out a laugh, “You’ve only heard one song,” 

“And I’m keen to hear more,” he said, “Maybe you could start with the one about me.”

Nineteen was spent falling in love. Again.

It was different this time, Mark swore it. It was different because Jeno was different. It was different because Mark was older. Wiser. Right? 

Meeting Jeno again felt like the planets aligning. It felt inevitable, like all along there had been an invisible string tying them together. Mark couldn’t let go of it— what were the odds? Perhaps Sydney wasn’t as big as he once believed, or maybe he was always meant to meet Jeno again. Either way, he was holding on now and refused to let go. That night he asked Jeno for his number and the boy jokingly said he’d tattoo it across Mark’s skin. (Just between the reader and Mark, he wouldn’t mind that, not one bit). Two days after receiving the fresh ink— four bats flying up his arm, for each member of Sweet Talkers— he texted Jeno. 

**Mark Lee:**

_Hey Jeno, it’s Mark_

_I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee_

_or something and catch up_

**Jeno Lee:**

_Hi Mark!_

_Sounds lovely_

_Come by the parlour tomorrow @ 1?_

**Mark Lee:**

_Sure !! see u then_

The parlour was much more alive during the day, with the golden afternoon sun streaming in and the workers and customers alike bustling through. It seemed different when it wasn’t watched under alcohol and 2:00 am tinted glasses. 

Jeno wasn’t at the front desk, instead there were two other boys who were also covered in tattoos. The smaller of the boys had his legs draped over the other’s lap, head buried in a book, their surroundings seeming dead to them.

The other noticed Mark immediately. He had a septum piercing and dark eyebrows to contrast his bleached blonde hair. Looking devastatingly intimidating. 

“Hello,” he said, baring every single one of his shark-like teeth at Mark, “Can we help you?”

Mark swallowed, finding his voice, “I’m uh— looking for Jeno?”

The boy’s eyes brighten, recognition settling in. “Oh, you must be Mark!” his tone was bubbly when he spoke, “I’m Jaemin, a best friend of Jeno’s— soulmate, some would say,” 

“Um– that’s cool, nice to meet you,” Mark said, “so is Jeno here or–”

“I hear you’re in a band,” Jaemin said, pushing the smaller boy’s legs off his lap and standing up. He leaned over the desk, closer into Mark’s space, “You guys any good?”

Mark shrugged, “I’d like to think so,”

“Your opinion is probably biased,” Jaemin replied, “I’d love to hear you guys play, Sweet Talkers, was it?”

Before Mark could get a reply in, the boy next to him spoke, looking up from his book.

“Jaemin, stop trying to scare the poor boy. He’s as pale as a ghost,” the silver of his lip piercing glinted as he spoke. He stood up from his seat and shoved Jaemin out of the way. 

“It’s nice to meet you darling, I’m Renjun.” he said, holding out his hand, “Jeno will be out in a minute and it’s best if you ignore Jaemin, we all do.”

 _“Hey!”_ came Jaemin’s protest, but Renjun just rolled his eyes. 

“Nice to meet you too, I’m Mark– well you just heard that,” Mark said, feeling his cheeks warm up.

“Oh, aren’t you just the cutest thing,” Renjun cooed. 

Mark was sure his cheeks were flaming by now. Luckily, he was saved by Jeno who came out from the back area. 

“Mark! You’re here!” he said, narrowing his eyes at the other two, “I hope you two aren’t bothering him,” 

“We would _never,_ ” Jaemin drawled on, sending a wink Mark’s way, “Have fun lovelies, bring Jeno back in one piece,” 

“Or pieces,” Renjun added, “We’re not too picky.” 

They go to a hole in the wall Malaysian takeaway place close by the parlour. 

“I come here almost every day for lunch,” Jeno explained after the auntie at the counter greeted him with a pinch to the cheek and a warm smile, “The mocha here is to die for,” 

They get mochas and Mee Goreng and sit at a table by the window. 

“So what have you been up to these past two years?” Mark asked. 

Jeno hummed, stirring his mocha with the metal straw, “This and that. I dropped out of high school and scored an apprenticeship with this artist at the parlour, I’ve kind of been there ever since,” 

“That’s cool,” Mark replied, “How is it at the parlour?” 

Jeno beamed, “ _Incredible._ I want to open my own some day. What about you?” 

“We played our first concert the other night,” Mark said, “Hence the drunken need for a tattoo,” 

Jeno laughed good-naturedly, “We get a lot of those,” 

“We’ve got concerts lined up for the next few weeks,” Mark added, “We’re recording songs too and sending it to labels.”

“That’s great Mark,” Jeno said, “Really great, I want to hear more of your music since you refused to show me the other night,”

“Maybe you can come to one of our shows,” Mark suggested, “I’ll even add your song to the setlist,”

“I would love to,” Jeno replied, smile never leaving his face, “You never told me your band name that night so I couldn’t look you guys up. Could you imagine? Hearing the best song you’ve ever heard and then not being able to find them anywhere, I thought I hallucinated you.”

Mark rolled his eyes, giggling slightly at how Jeno waved his hands around while he ranted. 

“You’re so dramatic,” he said, “You’re the one who disappeared that night,” 

He looked sheepish, “Sorry about that, strict parents.”

“It’s fine,” Mark shrugged, “We found each other again anyway,”

“I guess we did,” Jeno said, “So, what else has been going on in your life? How’s that boy you love?”

As promised, Jeno came to their next show. Mark stepped into the lights and found Jeno immediately in the crowd. Right in the middle with a brilliant grin on his face. 

“Hey guys,” Mark said into the mic, sending a wink Jeno’s way, “We’re Sweet Talkers and this is _A Good Song Never Dies._ ” 

“I feel scammed,” Jeno said after the show. He was sitting backstage with them, lounging on the couch next to Heejin and fitting right in with the rest of them, “It’s not really a song about me, it’s just something I said paired with a bunch of ambiguous metaphors,” 

“At least Mark’s written a song about you,” Heejin said bitterly, “I’ve known the guy since primary school and I get nothing,”

Mark wedged himself in between them on the couch, a friendship between the two of them had formed way too quickly for his liking. 

“You’ll live,” he told Heejin, handing her a bottle of water. 

He leaned closer into Jeno’s space, “Don’t complain, you’ll get more songs if you’re lucky.”

Jeno liked musical theatre, wearing pastel coloured nail polish and coffee that was disgustingly sweet. His favourite tattoo was one of a frog on his forearm and his second favourite was a stick and poke Renjun did on his thigh. He laughed at every one of Mark’s jokes, even the bad ones— especially the bad ones. He had an Instagram account for his art and another one for his cats but refused to get one for himself. He had an apartment in Auburn and hated living there but loved the sense of community. 

Mark learned all of this over the first few months of meeting Jeno. They started spending almost all their time together. When Mark wasn’t at work or with the band, he was with Jeno. The boy had slowly weaved his way into the complicated web of Mark’s life and he wasn’t complaining one bit. There he was, picking Mark up after band rehearsals bearing donuts and that smile of his. At Mark’s work, hanging out by the bar, nursing one cup of coke for the entire night while he distracted Mark from his job and fell in love with the different performers (Mark realised that Jeno had interest in all local artists, Sweet Talkers weren’t the exception). At Mark’s house, watering his houseplants with his hydroflask and chastising Mark for not doing it enough. 

There he was, giving Mark his second tattoo. 

Mark found the design on the parlour’s Instagram page, he immediately sent it to Jeno and spammed him with emojis until he agreed to tattoo it on Mark’s skin. 

He lay back against the tattoo chair with his shirt off while Jeno ran his cold hands across the skin under Mark’s collarbone. He suppressed a shiver. 

“This is gonna hurt,” Jeno said before he began, “More than the arm tattoo did,” 

Mark wasn’t good with pain, not one bit. Jeno must have sensed the nervous energy radiating off him because he reached down to hold Mark’s hand. 

“Relax,” he said, “It’s be worth it later when you see the ink on your skin,”

Mark laughed, it came out slightly high pitched but his nerves eased slightly. It must be the hand in his. 

“You think very highly of your work,”

“You’re the one who loves it enough to get it tattooed, these things are permanent you know,”

Mark rolled his eyes, “Yes Jeno, I’m aware that tattoos are _permanent,”_

Jeno let go of his hand. Mark closed his eyes. The tattoo gun began buzzing. 

It wasn’t too bad, Mark decided. Not when Jeno was gentle and talked enough for Mark to forget about the pain. When they were halfway finished, Jaemin walked into the room to watch. 

He pulled a chair up beside Mark, leaning his elbows onto the armrest and watching Mark like a hawk. 

“Can I help you?” Mark asked. 

“That drummer of yours,” Jaemin began, “Is he single?”

Mark lifted an eyebrow, “I thought you were dating Renjun,”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Right, my bad,” Mark said, wincing as Jeno went over a sensitive spot, “Hendery’s single,” 

“Hendery,” Jaemin repeated, sounding thoughtful, “Is he into guys?”

Mark’s mind went blank, “Actually, I have no idea,” 

“Isn’t he your friend?” Jaemin asked. 

“Best friend,” 

“And you don’t know if he likes men?”

Mark wracked his brain, he couldn’t recall a single time Hendery had mentioned a guy he liked. Or a girl, for that matter. 

“Has he ever had a boyfriend?”

“Nope,”

“Girlfriend?”

“Nope,”

“Mysterious,” Jaemin mused, “I like that in a man,” 

Jeno scoffed, “Jaemin, leave us alone. You can meet Hendery when we go to their gig,”

Mark suddenly regretted inviting Jaemin and Renjun along to their next show. 

Jaemin let out an exaggerated sigh, “I can tell when my presence isn’t wanted,” he pushed his chair back as he stood up, letting it make a terrible screeching sound against the floor, “Don’t get too freaky while I’m gone. This is a tattoo parlour after all, it’s not very clean.” 

He laughed at his own joke as he left through the back. 

“I’m going to snap and kill him one day,” Jeno muttered, eyes still trained on Mark’s skin. The tattoo was coming together beautifully. It was Jeno’s own rendition of _The Lovers_ tarot card and Mark had been enthralled with it from first glance. He knew he needed it immediately. 

“It would be a shame to kill him,” Mark said, “His designs are so pretty,”

“Mine are better,” Jeno, voice edging on whiny. It made Mark smile. 

“So,” Jeno continued, “What are your thoughts on ice skating?”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, confused with the sudden turn of conversation. 

“I’m awful at it,” he said. 

Jeno stopped tattooing to look at Mark properly. 

“They opened up the rink in Luna Park for the winter,” he said, “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

“Sure,” Mark said, “I’m free on Sunday,” 

“Sunday it is,” Jeno confirmed, getting back to finishing the tattoo. 

The rink was right next to the harbor, filling the air with the salty aroma of the ocean. Everything was lit up under colourful lights, reflecting off the ice and painting Jeno in reds and blues. Mark clung onto the edge of the rink, refusing to move an inch. Jeno, on the other hand, was taking every opportunity he could to show off. Gliding across the ice like he was a professional. It irked Mark how good he was. 

“How are you so good at this?” Mark called out to him.

Jeno skated right up to Mark, wearing a cheshire cat smile. He looked beautiful in the blue light. 

“I used to rollerblade as a kid,” he said, offering his hand out for Mark. 

He frowned, but held his hand anyway. 

“That’s annoying,” he grumbled. 

“It’s easy, here I can teach you,” 

“If you let me fall and die I’ll kill you,” Mark said, letting Jeno pull him along. 

“Don’t worry,” Jeno said, “You’re safe with me,” 

“Greasy,” Mark muttered, pretending to ignore the dirty look Jeno sent him in return. 

He skated alongside Jeno, keeping his strides short and slow to match the other boy. He enjoyed the feeling of Jeno’s cold hands against his warm ones–– neither of them remembered to bring gloves. Mark didn’t mind though, his skin against Jeno’s, balancing each other out. 

Without any sort of warning, Jeno sped up, causing Mark to stumble forward. 

_“Hey!”_ Mark yelped, gripping onto his sleeve for dear life, “Dickhead,” 

Jeno giggled, spinning around and _very smoothly_ wrapping an arm around Mark’s waist to hold him up. Everything around them turned into a mosaic of unfocused fluorescent lights as Jeno inched closer to Mark. Brown eyes meeting brown eyes. 

“Was this your plan all along?” Mark teased, “Make me swoon over your ice skating skills and then catch me as I fall?” 

“Typical musician,” Jeno said, mist leaving his lips, “Romanticising everything,” 

“Am I wrong to?” Mark asked. 

Jeno hummed, eyes briefly grazing over Mark’s lips before looking back up. “I like you Mark, I don’t know which higher power let you walk into my life again but I’m glad they did.” 

Mark was suddenly feeling too hot in his thick coat. He brought a hand up to touch Jeno’s face, fingers grazing the inked stars under his eye. Every part of him was beautiful. A work of art covered in art. 

“I like you too,” he breathed out, “Sorry my confession isn’t as poetic as yours.” 

Jeno chuckled, low and quiet, “Your confession is fine, perfect actually,” 

He stared at Jeno in all his glory, who looked at Mark like he held the stars, whose eyes were searching every inch of his. _Damn,_ Mark thought, _he’s never seen a mouth that he would kill to kiss._

Mark swallowed down his bubbling nerves, “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Jeno replied. 

Mark leaned in until he could taste the winter night on the boy’s lips. Jeno ran cold, Mark could feel it from his hands, his skin, his lips. His other hand came up to cup Jeno’s face properly, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss. The arms around his waist tightened, and it seemed Jeno couldn’t get enough either. Mark smiled into this kiss, enjoying the feeling of kissing Jeno under the stars, wrapped up in Jeno, feeling nothing but Jeno. It felt right. 

Even as they pulled away from the kiss, they never let go of each other’s hands. 

Later, they got ice cream and walked down the pier, despite the cold. They watched the boats move across the ocean. 

“Wait,” Mark said, over his ice cream cone, “This is a date right?” 

Jeno looked at him, half bewildered and entirely fond. 

“You’re such an idiot,” he said, and then kissed Mark until he was breathless. 

Here was the thing about Mark: he didn’t do things in moderation, especially not love. He fell and fell into the blackhole of desire until it engulfed him completely. It was what happened with Donghyuck and he was sure it was happening with Jeno too. He loved as he breathed. He loved to a fault. And he was terrified. 

It always came down to the fact that love was never kind to Mark. He nurtured it, protected it, but he never felt like he deserved it. He’d hoped it was different with Jeno, but maybe it wasn’t. He was desperate not to lose Jeno, the boy was everything Mark was looking for. A final kind of love. 

Stepping into Jeno’s studio apartment felt like stepping into his brain. The walls were covered in art, some he recognised as Jeno’s others must have been from his artist friends. Stacks of books climbed up the walls, reaching high enough to know that Jeno read a lot more than Mark did (Mark’s reading list was limited to the DC comics and his still unfinished Percy Jackson series). The place was decorated with hanging plants and thrifted furniture –– mismatched single couches and a cherry wood coffee table just big enough for a couple scented candles. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Jeno said, gesturing towards the giant canvas covering his floor, tubes of paint scattered around it, “I was working on a commission,”

“It’s fine,” Mark said, trying to catch a glimpse of the unfinished canvas before Jeno covered it. He was always so secretive about his works in progress. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Jeno asked, walking towards the kitchen. It was small, leaving just enough space for the two of them. “I have green tea,”

Mark wrinkled his nose, “I hate green tea,” 

Jeno gasped theatrically, “I don’t think this relationship can work out any longer, a green tea anti isn’t welcomed in my home.”

Mark scoffed, lifting himself up to sit on the counter, “Don’t you have soda or something?”

Jeno opened his fridge, frowning, “Nope, only sparkling water.” 

“Sparkling water and green tea,” Mark said, “You know, I think you’re right. This isn’t going to work out.” 

Jeno let out a brilliant laugh, pulling out a bottle of red wine. 

“I think I found our middle ground,” 

Mark hummed, “Actually, I prefer white wine,”

“Oh, hush,” Jeno said. He placed the bottle on the counter, and stood in space between Mark’s legs. Hands trailing up his thighs as he leaned up to kiss Mark on the lips, it was short and sweet, a greeting. But as he moved to pull away, Mark wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him in. Kissing him slowly, the hand on the back of his neck toying with the hair there. 

“That’s one way to shut me up,” Mark said, breathless when he pulled away. 

“Duly noted,” Jeno said, kissing his jaw before pulling away completely. He took his phone out of his back pocket and handed it to Mark, “Here, pick a song while I pour us some wine,”

Mark scrolled through his spotify while Jeno poured the wine into coffee mugs. 

“God, you’re music taste is–”

“Wonderful?” Jeno offered, handing Mark a mug with a Zuko from _The_ _Last Airbender_ character on it. 

“I was going to say strange,” 

Jeno pouted, “Music snob,” 

Mark shrugged unapologetically and played a song from Jeno’s playlist titled _slow tunez._ They clinked their coffee mugs together and downed it like beer. 

They talked and drank wine and slowly moved from the kitchen to the bed pushed in the corner of the apartment. They fell onto the silk sheets together, giggling like idiots and Mark occasionally pulled away to complain every time the song changed. 

“Why did you pick this playlist if you were just going to complain about it?” Jeno asked, lips warm as they trailed over Mark’s bare skin.

“It seemed like the lesser of all the other evils,”

His entire body shook as he laughed. He pinned Mark against the pillows. 

They kissed until the sun peaked. The time just before sunset when orange and gold poured in through the large windows. Filtering the entire apartment in a warm glow and casting shadows across the walls. The two boys were painted in daylight, hands grazing over tattoos and lips on jaws, everything felt bright bright bright. 

When Mark took his shirt off, Jeno placed a kiss on the healed tattoo under his collarbone. His hands travelled across every inch of his skin, from his shoulders to his torso, making Mark shiver. 

“Can I paint you?” Jeno asked through swollen lips. 

Mark blinked, trying to remember how to form coherent words again.

“Like on a canvas?”

“No, I mean,” Jeno said, swallowing thickly, “Can I paint on you?”

“Oh,” Mark said, “Sure, as long as I don’t die from paint toxins,” 

“You won’t die, drama queen,” 

Mark was laying on his front while Jeno painted his back. The paint was cold and the paintbrush was prickly across Mark’s skin. He made sure Jeno heard each one of his complaints about it. 

“I’m going to paint over your mouth,” Jeno said from where he was straddling Mark’s legs. 

Mark turned his head to glare at the boy on top of him, “Meanie,”

“Stop complaining and I’ll stop being mean,” 

“Fine,” he said, letting his cheek rest against the pillow. In a way, the strokes of the paintbrush and the careful hands on Mark’s back was relaxing, “What are you painting?” 

“Clouds,” 

“Lovely,” he said, “I like clouds,”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who actively hates clouds,” Jeno replied. 

“You always have something to say, huh?” Mark said amusedly. 

Jeno leaned over and kissed his shoulder blades, “Worried you found your match?”

“Not worried,” Mark said, feeling Jeno smile against his skin, “I’m thrilled,” 

Jeno presses another kiss to his back, at the top of his spine, as an answer. 

“You should get a tattoo here,” he said.

“Trying to get more money out of me?” Mark teased, “I knew you wanted me for the money and the fame,”

“Darn it, you got me,” 

“Why don’t you finish the clouds and I’ll think about something more permanent later? My back is getting cold,” 

“Bossy, bossy,” Jeno said, getting up and continuing his work anyway. 

And later, when the paint on Mark’s back dried and he was sure he'd smudged it all over the fancy sheets, he lay awake, unable to sleep while the other boy slept soundly next to him. The city lights danced across Jeno’s face, he looked completely relaxed, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks and breathing evened out. His arm was thrown over Mark’s torso, holding him in place and stubbornly cuddling in further each time Mark tired to inch away. His eyes grew heavy, letting Jeno’s breathing lull him to sleep. As he drifted off, he thought, maybe he could do this. Maybe he deserved this. 

Two weeks before Mark’s twentieth birthday, he came home to find his mother angrily throwing things into a suitcase. The lounge was a mess of cardboard boxes and clothes, lamps, pots and pans covered in bubble wrap. 

“Are we moving or something?” Mark asked, placing his keys on the coffee table and walking towards his mother. Her hands were shaking as she folded the shirt in her hand. 

“No,” she answered sternly, facing away from Mark as she continued packing, “I’m leaving you and your father,”

Mark was sure he misheard. His brain clouded with static. 

“What?” 

His mother still wouldn’t look at him. Her packing grew more and more frantic. 

“Where’s dad?” 

“Out,” she said curtly. 

“Mama, please look at me,” his voice was quiet, pleading. 

She stopped, finally turning to look at Mark. 

“You heard me,” she said, “I’m leaving you and your father, I can’t live here anymore,”

“You can’t leave,” Mark said, just hanging off the edge of despair. 

“I’m unhappy here Mark,” she said, 

“Mama, you can’t leave,” 

“Why not?” she asked. Expression stubborn, 

_“Because I didn’t!”_ Mark said, raising his voice. He’s never done that before. 

“I could’ve left— I wanted to leave so badly, but I didn’t. I stayed for you.”

“Mark–” 

“Mama please–” 

_“Mark.”_ she said with finality, a tone she hadn’t used on him since he was a kid. It shut him up just as successfully as it did back then, “You ungrateful child, you can’t let me be happy even after all I’ve done for you? 

I never asked you to stay, Mark. You’re just like your father, blaming me for things that aren’t my fault,” 

“Okay, okay,” Mark said, just so she would stop talking. The words held a chokehold on him, wrapping around his neck and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,”

He hated it, apologising for nothing, feeling like he was a little kid again. He was almost twenty, he was making a name for himself, and he was still terrified of his mother. 

“Of course you meant it Mark, otherwise you wouldn’t have said it,”

“I just meant— what do you want from me Ma?” he asked tiredly. He was so tired, exhausted, unbelievably frustrated. 

“Right now, I just want you out of my sight,” 

“Got it,” he said, grabbing his keys off the table, “Don’t wait up for me, you know, if you’ll still be here,” 

The front door slammed behind him as he shut it. He pulled out his phone to call Hendery. 

Mark’s mother had a habit of disappearing. When things got too hard, too difficult, she ran away. He never knew where she went, if she went to a friend’s house or for a mindless drive, but she always came back. Whether it was hours later during the middle of the night, or the next morning with Denny’s for Mark, she always came back. 

This time, though, she didn’t come back. Mark stopped holding out hope after two weeks. His father would hole himself in his office, rarely ever coming home. Mark felt too small in a house too big, too dreary and empty. 

Mark moved out on this twentieth birthday. Hendery had a spare room at his apartment and claimed it had Mark’s name on it since he moved in. 

“Are you sure you have everything?” his father asked, taping up the last of his boxes. 

“Yes dad,” he replied, answering for the tenth time, “I travel light anyway,”

“In true rockstar fashion,” 

Mark laughed, “I guess.” 

His father helped him load the boxes and suitcases into Hendery’s car. When they finished, Mark turned to his father. He had aged over the years, graying hairs and wrinkles around his eyes, but he was still so full of life. Mark could see himself in his father’s eyes. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” he asked worriedly, “I can stay,”

“Mark,” his father said with a hand on his shoulder, “Sweet boy, you spent your entire life taking care of your mother and I. It’s time for you to take care of yourself,”

Mark could feel the tears pricking at his eyes. His father wasn’t an affectionate man, their household was scarce of _I love yous_ and _I’m proud of you._ This felt like everything. 

“Thanks dad,” he said, unable to say more at the risk of choking up. 

“No need to thank me,” his father replied, “Happy Birthday, son.” 

“I can’t believe you kept this,” Jeno said, observing the paint chipping off Mark’s old skateboard. 

Two days after living in Hendery’s place— his place too he supposed, he was still getting used to it— he invited Jeno over to help him unpack. He didn’t want to unpack on his birthday, choosing instead to spend the day getting wasted with Hendery and taking the day after off to nurse his hangover. So there he was now, putting his clothes on hangers while Jeno rummaged through his cardboard boxes. It felt oddly domestic. 

“Of course I did,” Mark said, “My first _Jeno Lee_ original, I can sell it for millions when you get famous,” 

“Please, sixteen year old Jeno had a basic ass art style,” he muttered, putting the skateboard down. 

“Hey!” Mark said, lightly kicking his shin, “Don’t offend my favourite artist,” 

“Oh, shut up,” Jeno said fondly. 

They unpacked in a comfortable silence, Jeno occasionally commenting judgmentally at a few of Mark’s possessions. He was halfway through taking Mark apart for his collection of vintage DC comics when the door to the apartment slammed open. Heejin walked in with boxes of pizza in her arms. 

“Good evening residents of apartment 5A, I brought— oh Jeno is here, hello Jeno,” 

“Hello Heejin,” Jeno greeted politely. 

“Heejin, darling!” Mark said, “Who the hell gave you a key?” 

She smirked, placing the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter and twirling her keys around her finger, “Get Hendery stoned and he’ll give you just about anything.”

“You are evil,” Mark declared, “Get over here and help me unpack, Jeno is just making fun of me,” 

“And he’s right to,” Heejin said, walking over and taking a seat next to Mark. She gave him a one armed hug, “I hope it’s okay that I showed up without notice, I didn’t get to see you on your birthday and after that thing with your mum–”

“Slow down, Hee,” Mark said, rubbing her back, “You’re good, thank you for coming, really.”

“Of course, Markie,” she said, “You and Hendery can’t survive on your own,”

They finish unpacking, with all of his belongings on shelves and Heejin and Jeno bickering quietly over the music, Mark reckoned he finally found a place that felt like home. 

They packed onto the couch like sardines and made their way through the pizza. Eventually Jeno had to leave for his shift at the parlour. Mark pouted at him until he rolled his eyes and placed a compliant kiss to his lips, promising to meet Mark the next day for lunch. 

Then it was just Mark, Heejin and their final box of meat lovers pizza. 

She prodded his thigh with a socked foot, capturing his attention,

“Hey,” 

Mark raised an eyebrow at her, letting her throw her legs over his lap. 

“Hi?”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” he said, without thinking.

“ _Mark,”_ Heejin scolded.

“I actually mean it this time,” Mark defended, “I haven’t really processed the thing with my mum and I don’t think I will until I get like, _therapy_ , but other than that I’m fine. I moved out and I have Jeno— I’m happy,”

“That’s good to hear,” Heejin said, a contemplative look on her face. She looked like she wanted to say more.

Mark pinched her ankle, “What is it?”

“I’m just worried about you… and Jeno,” 

He gave her a questioning look, “Why? We’re perfect, I just told you,”

“I know and I’m happy for you, I really am. It’s just that–” she made a distressed sound, “You’re falling in love with Jeno and making it your whole life, just like you did with Donghyuck.”

He blanched, Heejin was never one to sugarcoat things. 

“I’m not making him my whole life,” 

“Seriously Mark,” Heejin said, “When was the last time you wrote a song, or focused on anything band related other than showing up to gigs and rehearsal?” 

“I’ve just been busy,” Mark said, suddenly feeling defensive. 

“It feels like you’re no longer prioritising the band,” 

“How could you say that? Sweet Talkers are my pride and joy, you know this.”

“ _I do, Mark,”_ she stressed out, “I’m not trying to attack you,” 

“It sure feels like it,” he added bitterly, crossing his arms. 

“Look babe,” she said, switching her position so she was kneeling next to Mark, taking his hand in hers. “I’m not telling you to dump Jeno, he makes you happy and you deserve happiness. Just– it’s okay to love him in moderation, you don’t have to choke on love to prove you feel it.” 

It was sick. The way Heejin knew him unlike anyone else, the way she spoke like she was an empath, tuned solely into Mark’s brain. Bachelor's degree in Mark’s thoughts and emotions. 

He pulled his hand away from her grasp. 

“I– um, maybe you should go,” 

Hurt flashed across her face, “Mark–”

He stood up from the couch, rubbing at his face, “I’m hearing you and I– well– I just want to be alone right now,” 

She sighed, standing up and trying to catch his eye, “I’ll go but… are we good?” 

He gave her a smile but he was sure it came out like a grimace, “We’re good, promise. I’m not mad,” 

When Heejin left, the apartment suddenly felt too empty. Hendery wouldn’t be getting back from work until later that night. He was starting to regret kicking Heejin out, not quite liking being by himself. Mark collapsed under his bed covers and decided to call it a night. 

The next day, Mark ignored all his text messages and met up with Jeno for their lunch date. They planned a picnic, right by Sydney harbour so they could see the ocean. The weather was kind to them that day, the sun was out and there was barely any wind. They laid out a picnic blanket and set up the food Jeno had made and the sushi Mark had bought. 

It was fun, it was easy. They watched the boats cross the water and the bungee jumpers fly off the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Jeno quietly admitted that he was afraid of heights and Mark looked at him in disbelief. He didn’t think Jeno was afraid of anything. 

After they ate, Jeno sprawled across the picnic blanket like a cat under the sun, his head on Mark’s lap. 

“I’m so full,” he complained, eyes closed while Mark ran his fingers through his hair.

“I told you not to finish the last sushi roll,”

“It would’ve gone to waste!” he defended, his eyes flew open, “Do we still have cake?”

“You’re ridiculous,” 

Jeno sat up to capture Mark’s lips with his own. He was smiling into the kiss, making it hard for Mark to deepen it. 

“What is it?” Mark mumbled, his own smile growing. 

“Nothing,” Jeno replied, his eyes curling up as his grin lit up his entire face, “I’m just happy,” 

His hand went up to touch Jeno’s jaw, thumb caressing the skin there. Jeno leaned into the touch, “I’m happy too,” 

Jeno leaned in and kissed Mark’s nose.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Jeno said with sparkling eyes. 

“What?” Mark’s eyes widened, filling with surprise.

“Scratch that,” Jeno continued, “I’m definitely in love with you,” 

“Oh,” he pulled away, heartbeat picking up as panic began to settle into his veins. He just had to say it back. Why couldn’t he say it back?

“I don’t know what to say,” he said instead.

He caught the disappointment as it flashed across Jeno’s face before it vanished. 

“It’s okay,” Jeno replied, and his voice was so gentle that it hurt _._ “You don’t have to say anything.”

He couldn’t look at Jeno, eyes stubbornly trained on the red and white of the picnic blanket. He felt like there was a storm brewing inside him. 

“Should we finish the cake?” Jeno asked. 

“Actually um–” Mark started, “Can we pack up? I’ve got work later so,” 

“Oh,” Jeno said, deflating slightly, “Sure,” 

_Look what you did,_ the accusatory voice in Mark’s head said, _you hurt Jeno._

They packed up in a painful silence, awkward and tense. Lacking the usual comfort that Mark found in their silences. And there was no one to blame but himself. 

They parted ways with halfhearted goodbyes. 

When Mark was on his way home, he pulled his phone out with trembling hands and clicked on Heejin’s contact.

“Are you happy?” he demanded when the call connected, “You got into my head,”

“What?” Heejin asked, tone laced with confusion, “Slow down, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about _Jeno,_ ” Mark said, voice progressively getting louder, “He told me that he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.”

“Oh Mark,” Heejin said sympathetically, “Are you okay?” 

“No I’m not! God, he looked so disappointed, so _hurt._ I ruined everything.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, there was a pause, and then, “Did you want to say it back?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, “I kept thinking about what you said and I– I just panicked, maybe I’m not cut out for love.” 

“Of course you are,” Heejin insisted, “You’re the most loving person I know, you and Jeno will figure this out.”

“I don’t know if we will,” he said, defeatedly. 

“Where are you?” she asked. 

“Train station,” 

“Okay, should I meet you back at your apartment or do you want me to pick you up?”

“Neither,” he said, “I want to be alone,”

“I don’t think you should be alone right now,” she replied, “Let me come over, please Mark.”

“I won’t be alone,” he said, “Hendery will be there,”

“Okay, then promise me you’ll tell him what’s going on,” 

“I promise,” 

**Wed 5 Aug, 6:45pm**

**Jeno 💖 :**

_hey just wondering if you got home safe_

_we kind of ended things weirdly so_

_lmk if u want to talk_ ****

**Thursday 6 Aug, 10:32am**

**Jeno 💖 :**

_Hey! do u want to meet up today?_

_i just finished up a commission so im free_

**Thursday 6 Aug, 3:00pm**

**Jeno 💖 :**

_guess not lol_

_text me when ur free i guess_

**Friday 7 Aug, 5:40pm**

**Jeno 💖 :**

_I haven’t heard from you in a while_

_I hope you’re okay._

**Saturday 8 August, 9:00pm**

**Jeno 💖 :**

_Mark???_

_ok. message received loud and clear._

A week passed and Mark hadn’t answered any of Jeno’s texts and calls. After a few days, they stopped coming. He didn’t know what to say to the boy. Where to even begin, how to even explain himself. It was unfair of him, selfish, to keep Jeno in the dark. He just didn’t know what else to do. 

Sweet Talkers started rehearsing in a rented space. They grew out of the garage in Hendery’s childhood home, both metaphorically since the band was gaining more popularity and literally, since they were all in their twenties. The space was bigger and allowed for them to record occasionally. Sweet Talkers were working on a new EP. 

Mark walked into the room, Heejin and Donghyuck were sitting on the floor together, tuning their instruments while Hendery was sitting at his drums. He marched over to Hendery and handed him a stack of papers. 

“Here,” he said. 

“What’s this?” Hendery asked, leafing through the papers.

“New songs, I was hoping you could help me fine tune them,”

His eyes widened, gazing up at Mark with disbelief, “You wrote this many songs?” 

This grabbed the attention of the other two, they looked over.

“Some of them really suck,” he said, “We probably can only use like three or four from the pile,” 

“Nonsense,” Hendery muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh also,” Mark said, turning to the others, “There’s a label coming to the bar next friday to check out the musicians, I convinced Johnny to add us to the lineup,” 

“I’m sure you were _plenty_ convincing,” Hendery teased, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Mark reached over to hit him on the head. 

“A label,” Donghyuck said in awe, “Holy shit,” 

“Yeah, it’s a big deal so we have to bring our best,” Mark said.

Heejin was watching him carefully, “This is huge, thank you,”

Mark shrugged, “Just doing my job as our leader,”

“Have you spoken to Jeno yet?” 

He moved to pick up his guitar, “Let’s just start rehearsal.” 

He could see Heejin and Donghyuck exchange a look from the corner of his eye. 

Donghyuck began, “Mark–”

“I can play the new songs for you guys after rehearsal, I want your feedback,” 

Heejin sighed, “Okay, let’s start rehearsal then,”

Mark gave her a weak smile, scrunching up his nose. “Thank you.” 

_You’re falling in love with Jeno and you’re making it your whole life._ It echoed inside Mark in the late hours of the night when he struggled to fall asleep. _You don’t need to choke on love to prove you feel it._ That was his problem, wasn’t it? Balance.

Mark had grown up with parents who didn’t love each other enough and as a result, he loved everyone too much. Because maybe if he did, they would stay. Because maybe if he did, he wouldn’t be unhappy like his parents were with their lives. Because if he loved someone enough for them to stay, it wouldn’t matter if he lost himself in the process. He used to think love was all consuming, that he had to drown in it, feel nothing but it. Mark was starting to think that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to lose himself in Jeno. He just wanted to _be_ with Jeno. 

It took another week for Mark to muster up the courage to see Jeno again. He went over to the tattoo parlour when he knew Jeno would be finishing up a shift. He was once again greeted by Renjun and Jaemin at the counter, who both looked at him with sour expressions. 

“Well, well, well,” Jaemin said, crossing his arms, “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

“Is Jeno here?” he asked. 

Renjun leaned forward and fixed him with a glare, “What makes you think we’ll let you see him?”

“I mean,” Mark tried, “I could just go in and see him, or wait outside until he finishes, or–”

“God, you’re annoying,” Jaemin cut in, “I can’t believe I slept with your drummer,”

 _“You what?”_ Renjun said, whipping his head around to look at Jaemin. Mark wasn’t expecting that either. 

Jaemin shrugged, “I told you I was going to,” 

“But I wanted to do it first!”

“Guys,” Mark said, getting their attention again, “Is Jeno in or not?”

Jaemin’s expression was deadly, “Haven’t you hurt him enough?” 

Mark sighed, confidence deflating, “I’m here to apologize,” 

“You’re about two weeks too late,” Renjun said.

Before Mark could defend himself— or at least make a pathetic attempt to— Jeno walked out, satchel hanging off his shoulder and clad in a checkered blazer with the sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos. He looked like everything Mark had been missing for the past two weeks. 

He noticed Mark standing there and stopped short.

“Good to see you’re not dead,” he said, tone bitter.

Mark offered him a nervous smile, “Can we talk?” 

He looked at Jaemin and Renjun, then back at Mark.

“Fine,” he said, “Let’s talk.” 

They walked to one of the parks close by, the grass stretched out and the area was surrounded by trees. Jeno took a seat on the park bench. 

“You said you wanted to talk but you didn’t say a word on the way here,” he said. 

Mark sighed, sitting down next to him. 

“I was collecting my thoughts,”

Jeno looked at him expectedly.

“I’m really sorry Jeno,” Mark said, “For everything, for ghosting you and freaking out that day, you really didn’t deserve that,”

“Why did you do it then? Do you know how much it sucks to tell someone you _love_ them and then be left in the dark for weeks?” 

Mark grimaced, “I’m sorry, I truly am. I just heard you say it and then my brain shut down, I fucked up. I’m sorry.” 

Jeno sighed, he looked conflicted. Mark wanted to reach out and hold his hand.

“I want an explanation,” he said. 

Mark swallowed thickly, he had no idea where to begin. 

“I don’t exactly have the best history when it comes to being in love, or relationships for that matter,” he said, “Sometimes I fall in love and I forget who I am, and hearing you say it made me feel like I had to choose between losing you or losing myself. I really don’t want to do either.”

He dared himself to look up at Jeno, finding the boy already gazing at him with intensity. He continued, 

“I really like you Jeno, being with you feels right, like something that will last forever. I want to keep dating you and have more picnics and sleepovers at your apartment, I want more of your art on my skin. I want it all. But it’s going to take some time for me to say it back, that is if you’ll have me back.” 

Jeno was quiet. Mark searched his eyes for a hint of what he was thinking, but his expression was unreadable. 

“You promise not to shut me out again if something like this comes up?” he said finally, “You’ll talk to me?”

“I promise,” Mark said, “No more running away,” 

“I forgive you, I’m still kind of mad about being ghosted but I forgive you.” 

Mark let out a breath of relief, “Could I have a hug now? I really missed you and I could use a hug,” 

Jeno laughed, it came out breathless. “Come here then,” 

He wrapped his arms around Mark, rubbing his back and hooking his chin over Mark’s shoulder. Mark closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth completely. From the way Jeno was holding him, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one who needed a hug. 

“I’m serious,” Jeno said quietly, “If you ever ghost me again, I’m dumping your sorry ass,” 

Mark giggled, letting his head fall against Jeno’s.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, “I’ll buy you flowers and write you a million songs,” 

Jeno pulled back enough to press a kiss to Mark’s shoulder.

“I’ll buy all the paintings from your website and let you choose what we watch on Netflix,” 

Jeno turned his head and pressed another kiss to Mark’s neck. 

“Just you being here is enough,” he said, “I’m holding you to the Netflix thing though,” 

“You can hold me to the songs too,” Mark replied, “I’ve already written like five songs about you,” 

Jeno pulled away to look at him, a sly grin on his face. 

“So I’m your muse?”

“Something like that,” 

“Remind me to show you my sketch book sometime, you’re my muse too,”

Mark smiled, leaning back in to hug Jeno again, relishing in the comfort the other boy brought him. He couldn’t believe he was this lucky, to have Jeno forgive him, to have Jeno holding him. A second chance with a boy this wonderful, a boy the universe kept putting in his path, and Mark wasn’t going to screw it up. 

The call came on a Saturday evening. Mark and Hendery were lounging in the living room, watching a terrible show on Netflix just to make fun of it. His phone rang from the kitchen and he had to force Hendery to pause so he could pick it up. It was from an unknown number. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, is this Mark Lee?” a man’s voice said from the other line.

“Yes,”

“I’m Kun Qian from Vision Entertainment. I got your number from Johnny Seo, he’s an old friend of mine.” 

Mark widened his eyes, he gestured wildly at Hendery to grab his attention, mouthing the words, _Vision Entertainment._

“Hello? Mark, are you still there?” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here, sorry,” Mark said, “What were you saying?” 

“Well, I watched your performance the other night and was extremely impressed. I’d love to have a meeting with your band and talk about a possible record deal?” 

“We would love to,” Mark replied. 

“How does Sunday the 27th sound?”

“It sounds great, we’ll be there,” 

“Perfect,” Kun said, “It was nice talking to you Mark, I’ll be in touch soon with more details,”

“It was nice talking to you too,” Mark replied, “I’m thankful that you reached out,” 

When Kun hung up, Mark was frozen in his spot. There was no way that phone call was real.

“Well?” Hendery called out, breaking Mark out of his trance, “What did he say?”

“He wants to meet with us,” Mark said, still dazed, “And talk about signing with Vision,”

“You’re fucking kidding,” Hendery replied, getting up from the couch.

“This is real,” he assured, “I think– I’m still processing,”

“Holy shit,” Hendery said excitedly, “Holy fucking shit, a label, Vision Entertainment.”

“We have to tell the others,” Mark said, scrambling for his phone again, “We have to celebrate,” 

Donghyuck and Heejin rushed over after Mark told them the news, they ordered pizza and broke out the expensive alcohol. Mark gave a toast to his band— the Sweet Talkers who he was tremendously proud of and loved more than anyone else in the world— successfully making both Heejin and Hendery cry. Donghyuck peppered kisses all over his face and jokingly took all the credit for the band’s success. 

_“Mark wrote his very first song about me,”_ Donghyuck had slurred out, _“You’re welcome, everyone!”_

They played only Sweet Talker songs for the entire night, the line-up starting from their very first recorded song to their latest. 

Jeno came over after his shift, Mark had excitedly texted him the news while he was working. 

“Jenoooo!” Mark called when the boy entered the apartment, slightly tipsy from the rum. He vowed not to drink too much because he wanted to remember why he was celebrating in the first place, “We’re gonna be famous!” 

Jeno chuckled, pecking Mark on the cheek as a greeting and sitting next to him on the couch, “Yes you are, babe,” he said, “Congrats guys, you deserve it,”

A chorus of gratitude came from the other three. Donghyuck declared that he was inviting his girlfriend over since Mark invited Jeno.

Mark leaned closer to Jeno, cuddling into his side. 

“Hey,” he said.

Jeno smiled back at him, “Hey,” 

“Thanks for coming,” 

“Of course, I’m so proud of you,” 

Mark rested his chin on Jeno’s shoulder, his cheeks hurt from how much he was grinning. 

“Don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous,” Jeno teased. 

“Please,” Mark replied, “You’ll be making it big with me,”

When Mark wrote his first song, he was sixteen and heartbroken and didn’t know a damn thing about love. Now, he was twenty years old, he has written hundreds of songs, his career was just starting to kick off and he still knew nothing about love. But it didn’t matter, he’s made his peace with the unknown. He had his whole life to figure it out, and he had Jeno by his side to help him.

He pressed a kiss to Jeno’s jaw. A screech coming from either Hendery or Donghyuck pulled his attention back to the other three. Heejin had pulled out the guitar, insisting that she could play in her intoxicated state. Hendery took out his drumsticks and began hitting random bits of furniture with it. Mark could bet money that Donghyuck would start singing any moment — musicians, you couldn’t take them anywhere. 

There Mark was, in a tiny apartment filled with the people that he loved. Each one of them was a planet in Mark’s galaxy, special to him in different ways, each as important as the other, each helped him live another day. And what was Mark, if not a piece of everyone that he loved? 

A piece of every planet. 

**Author's Note:**

> the sexual tension between you and the boy painting clouds on your back. 
> 
> thank you for reading, u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/smartlcve)


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